


An Open Letter To My Mother: One I Hope I'm Strong Enough To Give Her One Day

by Schweet



Series: A Series of Open Letters [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schweet/pseuds/Schweet
Summary: I know how I lucky I am to have a mother who is trying to accept me, but it still hurts when she says things she doesn't understand either the implication nor the impact of
Series: A Series of Open Letters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816228
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	An Open Letter To My Mother: One I Hope I'm Strong Enough To Give Her One Day

**Author's Note:**

> I know how I lucky I am to have a mother who is trying to accept me, but it still hurts when she says things she doesn't understand either the implication nor the impact of

I hopped in the car with a question on my lips

The only thing that kept me from asking the moment your door slammed shut and before we pulled out of the driveway was your strong voice singing along to the surprisingly political 1984 hit “Born In The USA”

I wanted to embrace this last possible moment of peace and comfort

I knew things would change drastically after this conversation

There would be no going back

We couldn't ignore this the way it feels we have ignored the first

Not a word or a whisper about it in the months since I turned my skin translucent and let you see my heart stained in pink and blue

I wanted to live in bliss for a few more moments at least

Hoping your answer wouldn’t be the words I feared

But I needed to know

So I waited for an opening

“Are you okay?” you laughed

“Yeah, just thinking,” I didn't tell you what I was thinking about, not yet ready to commit to the future

You sang along to the next line of the song

My fingers wrapped the strings of my mask around my fingers until the tips turned blue

Your fingers tapped along the top of the steering wheel

I couldn’t bring myself to sing along with you

You eased to a stop

I pulled the strings tighter

Bruce Springsteen had only been silent for 30 seconds before I asked you

Finally unable to hold it in any longer

I can’t hold in my own secrets, I would die to protect Elizabeth’s or Jacquelyn’s or Cristin’s or Lily’s, but apparently the longest I can keep my own are a max of six months before my heart requires I tell you

“Hey Mommy”, I committed

- _There was no going back now_ -

“Yeah?”, your voice was so gentle and receptive

“Can we have a serious conversation,” my voice wavered more than I had prepared for, more than I was ready for, more than I had rehearsed for

- _There’s no other way but forward_ -

You turned down the radio, cautious in your acceptance, blindsided and not sure what lay ahead of us, but ready in your love to face whatever words lay ahead

“Something you said has been weighing on me, and I just wanted to ask what you meant”, tears fought to escape my tired and overburdened eyes

And I asked that deadly question

“You waited until you had a captive audience”, you commented flatly, bitterly my mind suggested

“I didn’t want anyone to else to walk in on this”, I responded, staring out at the highway passing by, not seeing the nimble cars or the trees full of lush summer leaves or the striped white lines passing by

Silence

I imagine we overtake another car, you like going a little fast

- _We’re similar in that way aren’t we? A habit Daddy doesn’t like very much, only because he loves both us both too much to not fear the outcome_ -

“It is a private conversation,” you agreed, I fiddled with the strings on my mask, my first embroidery project, something I am trying to pick up to distract myself from the swirling hatred within me

- _Silent hands and a resting mind never lead to good things for me_

 _And there has been too much of both these past few months_ -

I didn’t tell you I didn’t want to risk either of us walking away and leaving this open ended and raw like the arguments we used to have when I was in middle school

The ones where we never actually apologized, just forgot and hopefully forgave?

I thought about it but I couldn’t voice it since I knew you wouldn’t understand this sincere worry of mine

Worry of a repetition of those arguments full of sullen, mumbled words, and stomping feet, and pounding fists against dense carpet, and slamming doors, and tantrums, and screams

All mine of course, but with your raised voice and subsequent disappointment

You’re always telling me I don’t know what a _real argument_ is, because the ones we have are nothing like the ones you used to have with your father

And maybe that’s true

And maybe we both have grown up enough to see a disagreement through

But they were real to me

So so is that fear

I hated those arguments of ours

They hurt both of us

I know they did

Because we are so similar

- _You’re always saying so, and I notice it myself more and more every day_

 _How I am slowly turning into the best of you_ -

I didn’t want that for this conversation

I don't want for you to ever associate my identity, my sexuality- _me_ \- with anything negative, whether it’s a fact or a feeling

- _I can’t risk that_ -

So I waited for weeks until we were both trapped in the car, alone, together

For at least forty minutes with no where important to go

That’s why I chose our outing today to broach the subject for the first time in months

- _If you don’t count my jokes that I used to test the waters of your opinion, jokes which you said don’t count_ -

Returning clothes, looking for bras that might finally fit me, the afternoon free, that would work

And neither Cristin nor Lily wanted to come, too busy with Netflix and naps

- _This is my only chance_

_I don’t know when else I’ll be alone with you like this before I move to Richmond_

_And I want your permission before I act on these feelings and thoughts of mine_

_I have always needed your permission, for everything from having a soda and ice cream at 10 o’clock at night to living my very own and very personal truth_ -

Every word, question, and reaction planned for and rehearsed repeatedly

All to discuss those words of yours

Words I’m sure you never even realized you said

And would never even remember

“Of course I’d be disappointed”

I don’t remember anything else you said from that conversation

Nothing else except your final words

You asked why I wasn’t going to church with you anymore

I told you I was working through something, but I was almost there, I just needed a little more time

You ever so clearly in all of your motherly love and human curiosity wanted to know what it was and I, in all of my joy and childish excitement and trust, could not keep it from you any longer

Couldn’t bare to lie to you anymore

And when I couldn’t bring myself to say those words aloud to another person for the first time in my life, to my own mother, who I knew could never understand, but who I hoped would still support and love

I wrote my damning truth out on a neon pink Post-It Note with the first Sharpie my shaking fingers landed upon in that beat-up, old, eggshell white drawer

The marker was black

Or maybe it was blue

- _I should have payed closer attention_ -

I wrote those incriminating words, ignoring the death knell of my soul’s warning bells, eagerly anticipating the reaction I had dreamed of

The reaction I had convinced myself was our future combined

“I think I’m bisexual”

I handed it to you, giddy of the future that lay beyond your comprehension of those four words

Your face impassive

And then nothing

Nothing until those thoughtless words of yours

“Of course I’d be disappointed”

I can remember nothing before and nothing after

Nothing except your final thoughts

“But I’m not surprised”

I never thought I was so see-through

Something I have ignored, struggled to understand, desperately fought against for over a decade

And you always knew?

Because I “presented as confused”?

- _What does that even mean?_ -

How could you know something I so desperately have wanted to hide from the world?

- _From my family_ -

From you and Daddy - _who I’m terrified of disappointing_ -

From Cristin - _who I'm terrified of losing_ -

From Lily - _who only said ‘duh’ in response_ -

From Mama - _who I love too much to risk asking her opinion of gay marriage_ -

From Aunt Jenny and Aunt Liz - _who I’m terrified will hate me_ -

From Stephaine and Brad and Alesha and Lexi and Dia and Anthony and Patrick and Kaityln and Shannon and Erin - _who I’m not sure what they will think, yet am convinced they will try to convince me to conform to a lifestyle otherwise more suitable_ -

- _From my friends_ -

From Elizabeth - _who won’t know what do with this love I have for her_ -

From Carly - _who will support but will not understand_ -

From Jacquleyn - _who will say it's fine as long as I don't get a crush on her_ -

From Emily - _who will say nothing_ -

From Brianna - _who will be excited to have a friend who is the same as her_ -

From Sydney - _whose belief in god and jesus saved her relationship with her mother_ -

From Caitie - _who I think is also bi_ -

From Qiyanna - _who I think accepts me from the hints I have dropped_ -

From Ashley - _who I think will still love me_ -

From Bryan - _who I think doesn’t care_ -

- _From my teachers_ -

From Ms. Fiorelli - _who I think is also gay_ -

From Stallings - _who will accept me either way_ -

From Brown - _who will still love to see my smile_ -

From Pachter - _who will hate me either way_ -

From Dr. Hardy - _who I will always respect and strive to be more like_ -

From Leslie - _who I want to be more published than_ -

From Ms. Shingler - _who encouraged my love of creative writing from the very first assignment of eleventh grade_ -

From Lisa whats her face who made Carly cry - _who would make me cry_ -

- _From my therapists_ -

From Miss. Margaret - _who has already tried to convince me that I’m not gay_ -

From Dr. Donna - _who was not there when I committed myself to the psych ward_ -

From Dr. Abdel-Kader - _who doesn’t ask the questions I need her to_ -

- _From the church_ -

From St. John’s - _can you even imagine the pariah I would become?_ -

From Father Moseman - _I’m not sure I could stand his harsh words and personal hate, I had enough of a taste when I defended Harry Potter in front of him_ -

From Father Peffley - _do you think he would forget my name if I told him my truth?_ -

From Father Chris - _‘The Saint of Putting Their Foot In Their Mouth’, do you think he would suck his own toes if he knew about me?_ -

From Sarah - _would she try to make me straight the way I think she made herself?_ -

From Mrs. Aquilina - _I still vividly remember what she said to Chris in front of us all at Halloween in ninth grade_ -

From Mr. Vorhies - _it’d be like losing an uncle_ -

From the Johnsons _-I’m terrified I’ll lose my job if they find out, why do you think I so nearly cried when the Supreme Court ruled sexualtiy as protected under the Civil Rights Act?_ -

From the middle aged man giving me the host I don’t deserve, who holds it like it’s more precious than gold, because to him, it is - _something I’m not sure I can understand anymore_ -

From the dignified old woman holding the green hymnal in front of me who is surprised to see a young woman like myself with such short, colourful hair and pants and a suit jacket and a bow tie, even if it's decorated with ruby red roses and glimmering silver threads, at such odds with my proper, feminine sisters and tender mother and perfect father standing tall in the pride of his pure, normal family, unaware of the disgusting truth hidden deep within his traitorous eldest daughter’s heart - _a truth I hope he cannot see the way you apparently always have_ -

From the small, innocent, well-meaning child behind me who knows I don’t fit, because children always know, and children don’t know what secrets are or why they should be hidden, never spoken of or mentioned or even dreamt of in certain circles - _like in a Roman Catholioc church in the most conservative diocese in the nation_ -

- _From myself_ -

Two years ago it would have killed me if someone believed I could love women

One year ago I would have done anything physically possible to make sure no one else would think that horrifically of me

Eight months ago I would have screamed in agony at the world’s revelation of my darkest, rawest secret- _one I had only come to terms with within the past 24 hours_ -

Four months ago I would have been enraged at my outing

Yesterday I would have cried if it were not my choice to tell a stranger

Today I would have sighed in relief while choked by fear

“Of course I’d be disappointed”

Why did you say that?

- _I should have payed closer attention_ -

I wish I knew why you said those words

I wish I remembered

What came before

What came after

I wanted so desperately to believe it’s because things were different now and that's all it was

Your plans for me had changed

That’s all

But I couldn’t be sure

Because I was too shocked

Too hurt

Too disappointed

To remember why you said it

So I had to ask

And of course, you didn’t remember

You got defensive

Not believing me

Why would I make that up?

How could I get your words, your meaning, so wrong?

You denied it verbally four times before you apologized for the _possibility_ of saying those words

I bet you’re still denying it internally

Understanding the impact of the sentence but not the denial of it

“It’s my duty to get you to Heaven”

And once again you say something that you don’t understand the implications of

Why is getting me to Heaven more important than me living my god given truth? - _Because that’s how I see it_ -

Than me being freed from self-hatred? - _Because I need to be_ -

Than me being in love? - _Because I’m destined to be_ -

Than me being happy? - _Because I want to be_ -

Besides, won’t I be barred by the wrought iron of Heaven’s gates once St. Peter reads my soul and sees my lavender heart and faggot disposition?

I won’t be welcomed by the church on Earth

The Popes have declared so

And I won’t be welcomed by the saints after death

The Bible has stated so

I can only hope I will be left to roam the Earth and care for those lost wandering children that I was not so different from not even a few months ago

In a Purgatory of my own desire I suppose, since it’s better than the only other district of the Christian afterlife

Heaven is not something that I see as a goal, or a destination, not even as an option

Because I have been taught that people like me belong elsewhere

Heaven is forbidden to me and my friends and whomever I am destined to love

- _I have already accepted that-_

So why not just live my truth and do none of the harm that has been done to me?

Why not just leave the world a better place than I found it and live every day like there is no glittering afterlife full of sunshine and soft clouds and angels strumming gilded harps

Because for me

There isn’t?

“If you’re in a loving, committed relationship than how could I be upset”

That’s what you should have said at first

I love you

I support you

Nothing will change that

Is what you should have said

But how can I be mad at you for not knowing what to say

When I have been surrounded by everything LGBTQ from the moment I joined Tumblr - _I was what, 12?_ -

When I wore bright blood red tape in an X across my too loud lips in solidarity with a gagged community I could not understand why I was so desperate to join

When I learned about Stonewall and flagging and Polari - _I can’t wait to buy a lavender handkerchief of my own_ -

When I learned that gay marriage was legalized as I stood in the entrance to a shop in P-town, staring at a rainbow etching of our country upon a cheap, white t-shirt as the twilight sea sky cradled us in it’s gentle palms and I couldn’t understand the weight that lifted from my hunched, pre-pubescent shoulders

When I was ready to die at 14 for my ostracized friends

“It’s out of my paradigm”

Yes

And I understand that

And I can't fault you for that, I never would

But please

Think about how your words could affect a depressed, anxious, and suicidal Roman Catholic child of your own flesh and blood before you use the word _disappointed_ during a _coming out confession_

That’s all I ask

Which is why I had to ask

In the manner that I did

I had to force a conversation I didn’t want to have in the first place

Not because you would be unwilling to discuss it

But because I’m still so scared to give it the power of mere existence

“I regret not having those discussions with you”

“You were too young”

“I should have given more oversight”

_No_

I’m glad you gave me the freedom and the space to find myself on the internet

To try on different hats and secret identities until I found one that fit my soul and gave me answers that brought me peace

Until I felt comfortable to tell the world what I had discovered about myself

I’m thankful for the early exposure to everything LGBTQ

To the crash courses and the history and the stories and the confessions and the secrets and the celebration and the _joy_ of self-expression

Do you remember the first time I saw a gay couple?

Because I have never forgotten

It haunts me to this day

And guides my decisions and reactions to things unknown

HGTV International House Hunters

Two men in dark grey and black pea coats were buying a house together next to a cloudy sea full of white boats at wooden docks

They began at a small table in a bakery

One of them ate an iced pink treat that crumbled over his fringed scarf

I asked you why two men were buying a house together

Were they brothers?

They looked so different from each other

You cautiously explained to me that sometimes two men love each other in the way Mommy and Daddy do

It was summer and it was raining

I felt so sick

I complained in disgusted shock

There was no way that could be possible

That it could be accepted

- _It was wrong_ -

You turned off the show

I once searched up ‘big boobs’ and ‘beautiful women’ on the family computer while you were out of the house - _I think I was eight_ -

I didn’t understand why I rubbed between my thighs

Or why those pictures made my head spin and vision tunnel - _this is the one thing I wish you had kept me from, this intense act with a child’s lack of understanding_ -

The next time I saw a gay couple I was in eighth grade

And two men kissed against a backdrop of dark navy blue under the banner of a horizontal rainbow

There was so much joy in that image

So much freedom

That sick feeling of mine was gone

Replaced instead by curiosity

And the embers of a fire I had yet to kindle

I was in middle school when I saw Sophia Vergara in a white and gold, sparkling, skintight dress on a rotating platform at the Oscars

A faceless man narrates as Sophia Vergara spins before my entranced eyes, a hand placed confidently on a cocked hip

My eyes explore her full and heavenly body

My stomach full of an excitement I could not yet understand

- _Am I gay?_ -

No I’m just a product of a misogynistic patriarchy, I whispered

No I just wish I had a body like that, I prayed

No that’s just such a pretty dress, I convinced myself

No she’s just gorgeous, I wavered

I was 20 when I saw Megan Rapinoe on the cover of Sports Illustrated

In a white bikini

The abstract lines of thin fabric barely covering the toned body of a goddess

Heat flushed my face and my lungs refused to cooperate as I finally understood the excitement in my stomach

It was November the year before my 21st birthday when I finally accepted I was gay

It was April before I realized I had to change my love for Elizabeth

It is only June 30th of my 21st year

“This thing with Elizabeth-” you begin, once again disappointed my mind suggests

“I know it will never happen,” the words rush out, if I can’t convince myself I’m over her, at the very least I can convince you

I don’t tell you I still think of her when I’m in church, I still distract myself at night with thoughts of her hands in mine and her splendid mouth upon my bloody lips

I don’t tell you that when I pray I ask for God and Jesus and everything holy to take this away from me

To make me normal

To make me the perfect daughter that you both deserve

To not risk me losing my best friend and self-proclaimed soulmate - _someone I have promised myself I will never hurt myself over and the only promise to myself I intend to keep, because both she and my memories of her deserve better than gushing blood, slit wrists, slashed hips, and sliced ankles_ -

“I’m not convinced you know the difference between erotic love and agape”

I don’t know it in the way that you do

But I do understand the difference

I am not a daisy sitting atop a fragile stem in a field of soft meadow mice, cowering at every cloud’s shadow, scanning the horizon for wings and snapping beaks

I am a robust rose with bristling thorns and thick, strong stem growing in the crack of a concrete skyscraper with a tiny glass ceiling, embracing the whistling wind and choking smog as I reach for the distant warmth of a sun I cannot understand

I have thoughts and dreams I’ve never told you of before - _thoughts and dreams I’m sure you don’t want to hear from your daughter_ -

I’ve dreamt of being pegged by female friends amongst the bushes and undergrowth of a colonial forest - _I put twenty dollars on you not knowing what pegging is_ -

I’ve dreamt of my second crush pinning me against the dark blue, hard, plastic seats of my elementary school’s gym with the exposed silver ceiling and white, far-too-reflective floors and black lines - _this was my first dream like this, I was 14_ -

I’ve dreamt of mystery men in my bed, writhing together, both of us tucked underneath the blanket you got me when I graduated high school - _something I think we both thought I would never live long enough to achieve_ -

I’ve thought of her straddling me in her childhood bed with those purple butterfly sheets, during Father Saunders’ final sermon - _I can’t even say her name in this context because of how wrong I know it is_ -

I’ve thought of tongues exploring and fingers wandering during the lulls of our conversations - _Lord help me_ -

I’ve hoped for her naked body against mine as I lay beside her since I was 15 - _why else do you think I sleep on the air mattress and let Cristin and Lily sleep on the bed with her?_ -

I have become a rather horny bastard since we changed my medication two years ago - _why else is this all happening at once? It’s so much to deal with on my own, I barely understand it all but I am so scared to talk about it with you and overwhelm you in the same way I am overwhelmed_ -

No, I am not influenced or swayed by what I have seen in the media

If I’m not influenced by the religion that raised me, why would Rachel Maddow or Bill O'Reilly sway my identity or sense of self? - _even if seeing Rachel Maddow stand up from behind her desk with a black suit jacket, black button up, light blue jeans, and canvas sneakers that one Halloween I watched with you and Daddy, Butterfingers spread out before me, made my heart jump in glorious confusion_ -

Are you so unsure in who you are that a stranger’s opinion or a simple fashion trend could change who you are?

Is that why you asked me that?

Because I honestly don’t understand where else that question could have come from

After another seemingly endless silence in this conversation of ours

You hugged me

You said you loved me and nothing would change that

I’m still not convinced you won’t change your mind though

I’m still waiting for you to say the words I need to hear

I’m not even sure what those words are

And I don’t even know if words will ever be able to fix what’s inside of me

Either my bisexuality

Or my self-hatred

Or the trustworthy demon that insists that everyone I ever love will leave me

That no love is unconditional

I love you and all things considered you took this conversation much better than I thought you would, especially since I backed you into a corner before the words had even left my mouth, before they formed in my stricken throat and fell from my bloodless lips

I know I cannot change you and I think you respect that you cannot change me

I think you only want what you believe is best for me

And I respect and appreciate where your heart lays

You are not a bad person for those words

Nor for forgetting and then denying them

Like I said, I think you want what you believe is best for me

But then why can’t you understand why I want to hide a little longer?

If you can respect that I like to play for both teams, why can’t you respect why I am _terrified_ to tell Cristin and my more conservative and religious father?

Can’t you understand that my fear comes not only for myself, but also for him?

Out of respect for the life he has expected for him and his family?

For the passion and faith and belief he has in the church?

Out of my fear of destroying all of that for him?

I can live with that, but can he?

I still don’t have the words to tell you everything I need you to understand

But that’s okay

Because I’m not sure you’re ready for everything I need you to know

Not yet

But hopefully someday

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it”

I know

But please respect that I am sad

These conversations have not gone exactly the way I wanted them to

Even though I cannot change you or your opinions or beliefs and I even though I appreciate your honesty

It can still hurt

I may be tired of hiding and lying

And we may both agree that I need to tell them both

But

I’m not quite ready yet

Please respect that

And please remember that I love you as you love me


End file.
